all the words that I know
by Abvj
Summary: They've never been very good about defining boundaries and respecting them after. Set during 4x17, The Lonely Hearts Job. Nate/Sophie.


They don't talk like normal people.

It was easier in the beginning during the running and chasing, when Sophie became caught up in the romance and lies, when he was her mark first and friend much later. It was easier when it was a game, when Nate had a wife and son waiting for him and she had another life to use an escape. It was easy, still, after he found her in Chicago when he was changed irrevocably and she was trying to be a different, better, _honest _person. It became more difficult when she allowed him and his silly crusade to alter the very core of her. When he started to take and take and take without remorse, bits and pieces of her gone at a time until suddenly she just realized, right in the middle of running a con, that she no longer understood who she was independent of him and the lies she had been spinning for decades.

It was then that Sophie learned the art of give and take, how to fight back, how to be Nate's equal in nearly every way.

There have always been things they don't say and lines they don't cross, even in the beginning when they were adamant about being nothing to each other. Nate and Sophie have been toeing the undercurrent that exists between them for so long now that she can do it from muscle memory alone. She knows when to push and when to pull back. She knows when he's looking for a fight, when he goads her into argument just to have some semblance of human interaction. She also knows that whiskey in his morning coffee equates to a normal day, but whiskey straight from the bottle and hidden in the coffee mug means Nate spent the previous night dreaming about Sam, about all the things he should have done, all the things he blames himself for but had absolutely no control over. She knows those are the days when she can't back down, the ones where she needs to push harder and fight louder. Sophie knows those are the days he needs her the most even if the words never leave his mouth.

Mostly, Sophie knows that she unashamedly, unequivocally loves Nate as much as she's ever loved anyone. She knows that she loved him in the beginning in her own twisted way and that love grew and lessened simultaneously for years until they met again on equal footing, until it finally became something more, something entirely different from anything she's ever known. She also knows that Nate loves her in his own way, the best he knows how. He never says it, but she knows he truly realized it, allowed himself to feel it fully in San Lorenzo. It is why he pulled away after, why he resisted the idea of them so adamantly while concurrently allowing himself to fall into her again and again so easily.

They don't talk like normal people because they don't talk at all, really, not about the essentials. With over a decade of history and a vast amount of knowledge on how to read between the lines, Sophie and Nate have become experts at inference, at how to read each other like they would a mark. They never say _I love you, I need you,_ _I want you _but the sentiments are there, hidden under touches and glances, buried deep within those moments in the early morning when he reaches for her while still half-asleep. When his fingers curl around the skin of her hip, his nose buried in the hair at the nape of her neck.

It's why when she murmurs, "Admit it, Nate. You were jealous," as his weight presses her against the mattress, his body molding against hers as if it was always meant to do so, he knows where this is going. Nate understands that she is looking for an earned affirmation before the words even finishing leaving her mouth.

The way his lips draw a line from hers and over the curve of her jaw, a chuckle seeping through here and there, as the vibrations sink deep into her skin tells her Nate is going to make her work for it. He shakes his head as his lips find the soft skin of her neck, that place where collarbone meets shoulder. He sinks his teeth in there, just for a moment, with just a slight amount of pressure before his tongue darts out to soothe the slight impressions left in their wake. Her moan is involuntary, the roll of her hips against his instinctual. He does it again just for good measure and she sighs something heavy and wanton just before he kisses her again.

When he pulls away, just slightly, his fingers are dancing along her rib cage through the fabric of her dress. "I wasn't," he says, but the smile playing at the corner of his mouth isn't smug, but playful. It's rare and Sophie feels it in her teeth when she kisses him again, just once, her fingers tugging his shirt from the waistband of his pants, slipping underneath to feel the warmth of his flesh. He sighs at the contact.

"When are you going to learn that it is such a wasted effort to lie to me?"

Nate responds to that by capturing her lips with his, his mouth against hers lazy but learned, sensual. His fingers travel up, up, up, skimming the underside of her breast, applying pressure, squeezing as he shifts on to his side, dragging her along with him. She laughs a little then, her mouth tearing from his as he presses himself against her so their bodies form a perfect, languid line. Her hands start on the buttons of his shirt. His skim the skin of her arm and side before settling on her legs, dancing along the edge of her dress, teasing.

"I wasn't jealous," he tells her again and Sophie would roll her eyes at the blatant lie if she wasn't too busy with the buttons of his shirt and the way his hand grasps her thigh and uses it to pull her even closer, swinging it over his own. "I just, I mean... what was with all that laughing? There was a lot of laughing."

Somehow, she manages a half-shrug as she shoves the shirt from his shoulders. "He was a funny man."

"He was a con man."

Sophie nips at his jaw, traces a line with her finger from sternum to navel and watches his eyes fall closed for the shortest span of time, loves the way Goosebumps rise in the wake of her touch. He leans into her further, never really close enough when it is just the two of them like this, his free hand smoothing over her hip to frame the arch of her back, pressing her hips towards his.

"So are you," she mumbles and she feels his frown against her lips. Sophie chuckles a bit as he kisses her again.

"Irrelevant."

"Nate," she draws out his name, the syllable a borderline whine and he laughs, his shoulders shaking as his fingers fumble along her spine. She moves her mouth from his to the subtle curve of his jaw, to the angle near his ear, to his neck. She bites there, returning the favor, and he moans, shoving a leg between hers. Smoothing the mark of her teeth with her tongue, she says, "Just admit it."

But he's not that easy. His hand moves from her back to her legs, the two of them always in constant motion, his fingers tracing the line of muscle that stretches from the crease behind her knee to hem of her dress. His movements are slow, drawn out as he inches his touch upwards inch by inch before skittering back down. He enjoys teasing her entirely way too much.

"Admit what?"

"That you hated it." Sophie knows how to fight dirty, so she reaches down between them and palms him through his slacks; starts on the belt there, the sound of metal sliding against metal echoing loudly in the air around them. Her fingers slip inside and around him. "That you hated listening to me laugh at his jokes and the thought of him touching me." She applies a little pressure here and there, her thumb rubbing the head of his cock as she nips at his earlobe, her voice heady in his ear as she mumbles, "Do you want to know where he touched me? Would you like me to show you?"

There is something caught between a moan and a growl and Nate buries his face in her neck, his body pressing against hers until her back is flat against the mattress again. His fingers move a little more forcefully and farther up the skin of her inner thigh and Sophie starts to grin before she even feels him, her knees starting to spread wider in anticipation as he finally settles in deep between her legs. He's taken aback, she's sure, at the immediate feel of soft curls and wetness there, and he pulls back to look at her, his brow knitted with something that is a mixture between confusion and unadulterated excitement. She bites her lip to keep from smiling.

"When did you take off your underwear?"

Laughing, she starts to move her hands against him again, up and down, up and down, and she loves to watch him fight for control, the emotions flickering across his face nakedly. Here, with his weight solid and wonderful above her, is one of the few times Nate unashamedly lets his guard down and Sophie loves that just as much as loves the act of sex itself. "Don't be silly, Nate," she murmurs, reaching forward to brush her lips against his, the careful ministrations of her hands never stalling. "I never had them on to begin with."

He bites the inside of his cheek as his fingers start to roll against her, slow and pressing, and she feels the tension starting to build already, feels the heated ache twist in her belly. "Was that for me or him?" he asks, more of a demand than a question, and if his thumb hadn't just flicked against her clit, she would have teased him about how absolutely ridiculous he's being. She would have drawn this out a little bit more, but instead she merely allows herself to smile, teeth and all, as she drags her bottom lip between them.

This time he does growl, the sound low, just for her, and he captures her mouth roughly, his tongue forcing its way inside, flicking with hers as he sinks a finger into her, and then another. Sophie's hips jut forward and she loses any and all coherency she had somehow been managing to hold on to in that moment. His fingers slip in and out of her, a continuous, vicious, beautiful cycle, his thumb brushing against the tender skin of her inner thigh, against her clit every so often just to keep her on edge. He knows her, knows what she wants and needs without her ever having to tell him, and it is a blessing inside of a curse, the way he teases her, nudging her closer and closer to her endpoint inch by inch, drawing it out until she begs. She doesn't know what she's doing with her hands, exactly, can't really comprehend anything except his mouth on hers and his hands between her legs, but it must be working because Nate is moaning into her mouth, his hips moving against them desperately, as if he can't get enough.

It's messy and disorganized, but it's them, the epitome of what they are now to each other. They've never been very good at defining boundaries and respecting them after.

Sophie was never this easy before him. Already she can feel the pressure start to build and mount at the base of her spine, knows he's just about there, too. She rocks herself against his hand, her arousal curling desperately inside of her, and she can't help it, her hands still as his mouth works tirelessly against hers, as she dances along the edge of incoherency, his fingers and mouth and tongue about to push her right over.

Nate always knows. He is always acutely aware of everything going on around him and just like that, he stops. His mouth tears away from hers and hums along the skin of her throat, his fingers leaving the heat between her legs to push them farther apart, to push her stupid dress that is twisted and ruined from wrinkles upwards until her stomach is bare, until there is enough space to easily slip his fingers underneath. They skim the underside of her breast then, trace the bones of her ribcage, the line that draws itself down to her navel. His lips follow, his body moving down hers, his shoulders settling comfortably between her legs as his mouth curves against her thigh. She moans then, his name and a curse rolled into a jumbled mess of words, and he laughs a little then, a hand flattening over her stomach to still her while he uses the other to press a knuckle into her.

"You're being impatient," he murmurs and she can feel his grin against her, the vibrations of his voice driving her absolutely insane with want and need.

"And you're being a bloody tease." Sophie barely chokes the words out, her voice shaky at best, her breath hitching as he responds with burying his mouth between her legs. She arches, trying to breathe, trying to catch her breath, but Nate doesn't relent. He is slow, methodical as he tastes her and pushes her because he knows how to, because he knows just the way she needs it.

It's too much and not enough at the same time. She's already mostly there, his tongue slowing against her clit, and her fingers start to pull at his shoulders and hair, anything she can grasp, tugging him upwards because she doesn't want this. She wants him, now, inside of her, the need heavy and her _no _is strangled as it falls between them, and she watches him – she loves to watch him touch her – her chest tightening when his eyes flick towards hers, when she feels the smug smile curl at the edges of his mouth between her legs. She thinks, for a moment, that he's not going to give in, but then she murmurs _please, _just once, quickly followed by his name. His mouth stills against her, his lips pressing against the inside of her thigh gingerly before he moves his way back up to her mouth.

Sophie can taste herself there and it fuels her into hurried action, expertly using her feet to push his pants down his legs, his slacks and boxers dropping past his knees, right onto the floor. She's crazy when he settles between her thighs more comfortably, when his cock brushes her clit. Sophie can tell by the way he grins against her lips that he isn't done making her pay for screwing with him last night, for just now when she started this, so she uses her legs as leverage to gain the upper hand, flipping them until he's flat on his back, her thighs on either side of his. She pulls away from him, a little breathless, her smile satisfied at the shock on his face as her fingers curl into the fabric of her dress and pull it over her head, tossing it somewhere in the distance.

The shock on his face gives way to appreciation, to something deeper as he gives in, his hands finding her hips and traveling north, over her belly and sides, fondling her breasts as she poises herself above him. Her hands settle on his waist, just bellow the scar on his abdomen, her fingers jutting out to trace the faint ridge out of memory. Nate smirks, just a little, her name fumbling past his lips as their eyes lock and it's not begging, exactly, but more like he's asking her, his hands falling to her hips once more, fingers digging in as he rocks his own upwards, trying for friction, urging her.

She gives in easily, both of them groaning as she sinks onto him. There is the allotted adjustment period where they breathe and grow accustomed to the tightness, as she stretches to accommodate the fit of him. Sophie likes to watch him then, memorizing the way his eyes fall closed, the way he sighs her name quietly as his mouth falls open, teeth biting the inside of his cheek.

When she moves, finally, it's slow and easy and good, such a far cry from so many times in the beginning when they were frantic and rushed. When their bodies had fit together jaggedly, hurriedly, like if they stopped to breathe, to appreciate for just a mere span of time the moment would pass in the blink of an eye. Now their pace is learned, practiced, and she loves this more in a way – the slowness, the knowledge they have now of each other. They find their rhythm together easily, and already she's starting to loose herself, the line of her sight blurring around the edges. Sophie's eyes fall closed because it's too much, too soon, and it is a fight to keep them open, to resist giving herself over to the moment. One of Nate's hands travels up to wrap around her neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls of her hair there, holding on.

They're quiet today, their moans and sighs surprisingly soft, and when her eyes slide open again he's watching her, looking right up at her, his thumb tracing the hard bone of her jaw, the outline of her lips as his fingers tighten in her hair. She moves, and keeps moving, and watches him watch her, the moment so incredibly intimate, the pure love and want and need so evident in the way he looks at her, in the way he says her name over and over, the consonants and vowels stringing themselves together until it is practically incoherent.

It's what does her in, really, and he knows – Nate _always _knows – and he pushes her past the point of breaking with his thumb on her clit, while the hand that is tangled in her hair pulling her forward, crushing her mouth to his over and over as she arches her back and comes undone around him.

He follows easily and after there is stillness. Her weight is solid and heavy against him, their lips slowing and almost stilling completely against one another's as they try to figure out how to breathe again. Her ears are ringing, thighs burning and boneless, and she pulls away from his mouth, burying her face in the crook of his neck instead. Everything is too bright and hazy at once, the sounds too loud – she can hear her heartbeat in her head starting to slow and even and Nate holds her closely, both hands on her back now, pressing firmly between her shoulder blades, holding her against him.

It's almost suffocating, but she likes it, likes the way he carries her weight, the way he supports her.

"The others will be back soon," she murmurs sometime later. There had been a conversation about losing a bet, how Eliot owed Hardison dinner which somehow turned into them all having dinner together, a sort of post-con ritual these days. Sophie is too tired to remember and work out the minute details, but she knows they left for the grocery at least forty minutes ago, Parker in toe because they're a packaged deal of sorts – never one without the other two – which buys she and Nate another ten, fifteen minutes _at most. _

"Okay," he says, the sound muffled by the curls of her hair as he presses a kiss into the crown of her head.

Still, he doesn't move, his fingers drawing a gentle line up and down her back slowly, fingers tracing the dips and curves of her spine. She presses her lips against the soft skin of his neck once or twice and it's quiet, this moment, their version of affection. It's not overt or overly done, it's just there, uniquely them.

"It'll be your fault," she warns and he laughs a little, the sound pure and rare and warming so very much of her.

"I can handle that, I think." Nate's voice is low, his fingers still moving lazily along the subtle curve of her back.

He's grinning, maybe, but Sophie doesn't want to ruin the moment by turning to look.


End file.
